They'll Never See Me Cry
by Infinity Lily
Summary: She's always been strong. She's fooled everyone into thinking she's weak. And she's lost everyone she ever loved. But did she lose herself in the process? This is the story of Johanna Mason, from the moment she was reaped, through the after effects of her controversial victory and the whirlwind of the Mockingjay Rebellion.


**Disclaimer: ****_I don't own The Hunger Games._**

**They'll Never See Me Cry**

**_Chapter One_**

`Like every other sane person in my district, I'd always hated Reaping Day, yet with all the other bullshit the universe threw at me, I never worried about it or feared it as much as other children. After all, everyday was a battle for survival.

After the fire destroyed, not only my house, but my life, every single day was my own personal Hunger Games. My sister and I were left penniless orphans, with only the burnt remains of our once respectable, house to our name. At the age of twelve, I had to leave school, I had to get a job, I had to build a shelter and provide food for myself and my sister, Olivia, who was only nine at the time.

And I did. Five years later, saw us living in a two room cottage, which was perhaps a fifth of the size of our old home. So long as I worked my ass off for eight hours everyday, we had enough money for three small meals a day, Olivia's education and the basic necessities for life in District Seven.

So therefore when the 71st Hunger Games rolled around again, I was more concerned about how we were going to afford to feed ourselves, when all work was suspended, for sometimes, up to a month, than the slim chance that my sister or I would be reaped. I spent all year saving money for the time of the Games, when everyone was prohibited from working and forced to watch children killing each other.

This was why the morning of the Reaping I was once again bent over the small worn book I kept for accounting. It would make things easier for us if we took tesserae, but our parents had drummed into my head long ago that it wasn't worth it. Yet, that first year, having lost everything only weeks prior, the very real possibility of starving had driven me to take one tesserae. At the time, the Hunger Games had felt like a distant threat, while I could see Olivia becoming skinnier everyday. Now, at the age of seventeen, my name was in the reaping bowl twelve times. That meager supply of grain and oil had filled Olivia's belly on more than one occasion, so in the long run it had been worth the risk. She, at the age of fourteen, was entered only three times, and in a District as large as ours, the chance that she, and even I, would be reaped was very slim. Or so I'd always thought. Karma's a bitch.

Scowling at the numbers in the book, I sighed and ran a hand through my black hair. It was getting too long again; I'd have to get Olivia to cut it for me tonight. If we went without some not quite as essential items, like paper, candles and new shoes, we'd probably be ok, and if I skipped dinner, like I did last year, maybe I could get Olivia a new dress for school. Because God only knows how she fits into her current one. If she got any taller you wouldn't even be able to call it a dress anymore.

Even as I was thinking this, Olivia entered the room we used as a kitchen, dining and sitting room from the small bedroom, washroom we slept in. she was wearing the green dress I'd worn to the Reaping until she hit twelve. I frowned as I realized it fell almost three inches above her knees and that the buttons at the back were only half done up.

"Can you see if you can do this up please Jo?" she asked stopping in front of me.

"When did you grow so much?" I demanded as I tried to make the fabric meet.

She shrugged.

"It's not going to button up," I decided after giving an especially hard tug on the fabric and hearing the ominous sound of breaking stitches, "take it off and I'll see what I can do," I said, giving the dress a black look.

She did as I said and I fetched our small sewing kit, I was absolutely atrocious at all forms of sewing, but impossibly, Olivia was even worse than me. After unpicking the hem of the dress, I cut a substantial amount off the bottom, then re-hemmed it as minuscule as I could. I sewed the strip of green fabric to either side of the buttons on the back of the dress, rendering it a pull on one and the buttons ornaments.

"Try this, you'll have to wear you're black tights underneath, and if you clean up my work boots and tuck the laces in you can wear them too."

With a bit of effort, Olivia managed to get it on. The tightness across the bust and across her shoulders meant her arm movement was restricted, but it would do for today.

"Thanks Jo," she smiled, "You'd better get dressed, I'll get us some breakfast."

"I've already eaten," I lied, with a sideways glance at the account book that was still sitting on the table with deceptive innocence.

Olivia looked at me for a moment before saying,

"Actually, I'm not that hungry…."

"Have something;" I said firmly, "You don't want to feel even more sick than usual for a Reaping day."

I watched as she grudgingly took a small amount of grain and the small pitcher of milk I'd been given by our neighbour, who kept a trio of nanny goats. She retrieved the pot from its resting place and hung it over the small fire that burnt in our make shift fireplace. Satisfied that she was going to have breakfast I entered the bedroom and crossed to the metal bowl of water I had left for Olivia. It was still lukewarm and I quickly scrubbed my face, neck and arms before pulling on the plain white blouse and forest green skirt I had borrowed from our neighbour the night before. I hated that we were required to dress up for the reaping; I could never work in a skirt, which meant money was wasted on an outfit for one day a year. I had mentioned this to our aging neighbour, Mrs Downson, and she had happily provided the clothes, saying she'd kept them in the hope she'd one day fit them again, but had been happy to lend them to me for the day. I tucked the blouse into the skirt, reflecting that we would never be able to afford clothing this delicate. Then seizing the hairbrush I'd bought Olivia for her last birthday, I dragged it through my tangled hair, out of habit I pulled it away from my face in a messy ponytail, then let it drop, that wouldn't be appropriate for the Reaping ceremony. I threw the hairbrush back; overcome by a fit of rebelliousness I left my hair down. What did I care if some Capital snob laughed at my obvious poverty?

Pushing my feet into the too small shoes, I'd worn to every reaping so far, I left the room. Olivia was just finishing a small bowl of porridge when I entered. She looked up at me, and I could tell by her expression that she knew it was time.

Together we left the small house I'd built and made our way to the town square. We waited in line to sign in, Olivia pausing to wait for me so we could walk to the penned off area together. My sister was nervously twisting the edge of her skirt in her fist and her brow was wrinkled with worry.

"Hey," I said, reaching my hand out to touch her shoulder, "It's going to be fine!"

She looked at me, it was true she'd grown a lot the past year, but her wide eyes betrayed how young she still was.

"Yeah I know," she said, attempting a brave smile.

I reached behind my neck to undo the necklace I always wore. Drawing it out, I handed it to her. A small pendant in the shape of a rose, with a tiny green gem in the centre hung from a long chain. It was one of the very few things we had recovered from the wreckage of our house all those years ago.

"Mum's necklace?" Olivia asked, taking it reverently.

I nodded,

"For luck," I explained, "they'll be watching over you," I promised, giving her a small, rare smile.

She smiled back and pulled me into a tight hug. It was with surprise that I realized I struggled to rest my chin on top of her head. She was nearly as tall as me, yet she'd always be my baby sister. I felt myself becoming uncharacteristically emotional and pulled away gently.

"You'll be fine Livvy; I'll meet you outside the McEwen's carpentry afterwards, ok?"

Olivia nodded and with one last smile she disappeared off towards the fourteen year old section with a wave of her fingers. I crossed the square to my age group, nodding to a few people I recognized from my lumber jacking job.

"Johanna!"

I looked around until I found the source of the voice. Juniper, my closest and only friend while I'd been at school was pushing her way towards me. When she reached me, she gave me a quick one armed squeeze in greeting, she knew how much I disliked emotional, touchy things.

"Hello," I said dryly.

"I haven't seen you in ages Jo! How are you?"

Juniper's father was the head supervisor of the logging program and therefore her family was definitely high end. Her father was also the reason I'd managed to get a job in the lumber industry as a twelve year old girl with no parents, so I wasn't going to complain.

"Well not all of us can laze around at school like you," I informed her.

"Hey, I work hard at school!"

"Sure you do, tell me, who's your latest boy toy?"

She made an affronted noise,

"I'll have you know I've been going out with Jack McEwen for three weeks!"

I snorted,

"No you haven't, I saw you kissing Rowan Palmer last week!"

She blushed,

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that…"

"You forgot that you kissed Rowan Palmer?" I asked in disbelief, "God you're a slut!"

"If you have enough energy to insult me, I'm going to assume you're ok," Juniper said dryly, not at all fazed by what I'd said.

"Considering it's Reaping Day, I wouldn't say I'm good."

"True. It'd be horrible wouldn't it?" she said, looking critically up at the stage where the two reaping bowls were sitting innocently.

"To be reaped? Yes, it'd be pretty fucking horrible!"

She ignored me and continued in the same hushed tone, like the ones people used when they discussed Olivia and I,

"But to be put on display like that, to have your death practically announced and know that your reaction is going to be televised on national television and that you're going to be judged and analysed, it's awful. If you cry, they'll see you as vulnerable, easy pickings. But if you're dignified and strong you paint a target on your back."

She trailed off as the Mayor stood to address us; giving the same speech he'd given for a decade about how we were honoured to have to sacrifice so little in penance for our ancestor's crimes. He finished off with the typical, _May the odds be ever in your favour._ I hadn't really been paying attention; however, I was too busy thinking over what Juniper had said. She had a point. If you appeared weak you'd be forgettable, unthreatening, not worth worrying about, but as soon as a tribute tried to be tough, they made themselves a target for the Careers. A group of strong fighter, typically from Districts 1, 2 and 4 who trained until they were eighteen and then volunteered. Only the Careers who had safety in numbers, reputation and skill could afford such shows of confidence. The other tributes were better off being completely uninteresting; in fact pretending you were a snivelling baby could be devastating if everyone underestimated you. Of course you'd have to look unremarkable, be small, shy and terrified. If you were a girl you'd be able to pull it off easier, people tended to underestimate petite girls. I'd know, people at work did it all the time to me, all they saw was the small stature and breasts and thought I'd be a totally pathetic pushover. I merely threw my axe at a tree, letting the heavy metal which impaled itself in my target every time speak for itself. Please, girls, or just people in general, who were whiny cowards made me sick!

My thoughts were interrupted with the introduction of our district's Capital escort, Esmeralda Blake. This year she wore a puffy pink dress in a frightening shade of pink, a powder pink wig to match and even from this distance away, I could see her eyebrows, which had been dyed a violent magenta.

"Happy Hunger Games Everyone!" she began in her whiny Capital accent, "And may the odds be ever in your favour!"

I rolled my eyes at her peppiness, as she gushed about how happy she was to be back in District 7. I tapped my foot impatiently, thinking about all the jobs I could be doing around the house.

"And now to pick the lucky young lady who will participate in this year's Hunger Games!" she cried, her happy voice almost trembling with sick excitement.

I watched with only the barest hint of apprehension as she reached into one of the glass bowls. There's tens of thousands of names in there, what are the chances it'll be me? Esmeralda fished around for a few moments, and I rolled my eyes as she finally pulls one slip out, holding it high and pausing for dramatic effect.

"And this year's female tribute from District 7 is…Johanna Mason!"

Fuck you Karma.

**Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think!**


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